


All I Want For Christmas Is You

by richmahogany



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, M/M, probably the least original Christmas fic ever, title says it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany
Summary: After finishing a case on Christmas Day, Finch gives Reese time off to celebrate. But John doesn't want to celebrate with anyone but Harold, so he returns to the library. The inevitable ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bit late, I know, but life prevented me from finishing this in time, and I don't want to wait for next Christmas before posting it. I hope you still enjoy it.

It would have been so nice, thought John, if people could have stopped committing violent crimes for Christmas. But of course they didn’t. Consequently he had spent most of Christmas day running after yet another stalker turned potential murderer and trying to keep the intended victim safe. By late afternoon, however, the perpetrator was in police custody, and the case was finished.

They met back at the library. Finch, who had made a last minute dash to get Ms Carlsen to safety, was quite exhausted, but as usual tried not to show it and typed away at his computer with rather more vigor than necessary. 

“Well, Mr Reese,” he said, “there is at least some of your Christmas day left for you to enjoy. I’m sure you’ve got places to go and people to be with. I won’t detain you any longer.”

“You’re still here,” John pointed out.

“Just a few tweaks to Ms Carlsen’s new identity,” said Finch, “I’ll go home when I’ve finished. Please, go and enjoy some time off. Merry Christmas, Mr Reese.”

With those words, John had effectively been dismissed, but he hesitated. The truth was, there was nowhere for him to go, no one to meet. As far as he was concerned, he would gladly have stayed at the library, if only to watch Finch work. But Finch, no doubt with the best intentions, was sending him away. So he said “Merry Christmas, Finch”, turned and left. 

He drove around aimlessly for an hour. There was nowhere for him to go but his lonely apartment. Didn’t Finch know that he had no one to celebrate Christmas with? No friends, no one to get together with for a drink and a meal? Maybe Finch’s surveillance of him wasn’t quite as extensive as he had imagined.

There was only one person John wanted to be with for Christmas, and that was Finch. But maybe he had sent him away because he had plans for himself? Perhaps Harold had a whole circle of friends, who were just waiting for him to arrive for the celebrations to begin. But no, John was certain that he didn’t. Harold was a loner, and anyone who had known the old Harold thought he was dead. The new Harold didn’t have any friends. And that’s why John was sure that Harold would still be at the library when he finally made the decision to return there. Maybe Finch would let him stay. Maybe they could drink a cup of tea together, maybe even get takeout and have a meal. A civilized conversation that wasn’t about a case. Not that he expected Harold to talk about himself in any way, but John was sure that he would have something interesting to say, particularly if John prompted him with a question about a book or some work of art. That was the most he hoped for. Although, if he could make his wishes come true, there would have been more – so much more…

When John entered the library, the space was dark, and for a moment he thought he had been wrong and Harold had gone after all. But Harold was there. He had turned off all the lights to open one of the curtains and look out of the window without anyone noticing him. For a moment, John’s heart beat in his throat when he saw Harold standing there, looking out into the darkness.

No one would ever call Harold handsome or good-looking, but to John he was beautiful. No one else attracted him like Harold, and no one else evoked the same mixture of friendship, love, desire and protective instinct in him. He couldn’t remember when he had realized how he felt about Harold, and he didn’t know if Harold felt anything about him. Maybe he would never know. He suddenly noticed that Harold had changed his clothes. He was now attired in shades of dark blue, purple and lilac, and the kind of brilliant white shirt that always brought out the color of his eyes. He caught a whiff of Harold’s cologne and for a moment he almost lost his head and rushed to take the other man into his arms there and then, consequences be damned. Instead he just stood there, holding his breath.

At the noise of John’s entrance Harold turned around.

“Mr Reese? What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to celebrate Christmas.”

“I gave you time off to do that. Why have you come back?”

John decided to give Finch at least some of the truth.

“Because there is no one I would rather spend Christmas with than you.”

Finch stared at him, and John thought he would get angry and send him away again. But instead he closed the curtains again, switched on the lights and said:

“Well, since you are here, would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

John watched as Harold prepared his coffee and a small pot of tea for himself, which took at least twice as long. When they sat down opposite each other with their drinks, however, an awkward silence fell. John didn’t know what to say, and Harold clearly wasn’t going to initiate a conversation. But the longer they sat there, the less uncomfortable the silence felt. John realized that he wasn’t actually required to say anything. Gradually he relaxed, and as they sipped their drinks, he saw that Harold was relaxing, too. He seemed to be more calm and contented than John had seen him in a long time, so much so that he even smiled at John now and then. This felt good, he realized, this is how it should be between friends, to be able just to sit there enjoying each other’s company. 

Eventually, though, the thought of food could no longer be pushed away. To John’s surprise Harold readily consented to a takeout meal, and so John went out and shortly returned with their favorite Chinese dishes.

The meal finally served as a prompter for some conversation, as Finch went from a discussion of Chinese regional cuisines to the decoration of Chinese porcelain and from there to Chinese art in general. Unlike Finch, John actually had been to China, and although he couldn’t say anything about the jobs he had done there (not that he wanted to, anyway), he could talk about some of the sights he’d seen, people he’d met, food he’d tasted. This is what John had been hoping for: spending some time in Finch’s company, watching him, listening to him talk, getting a glimpse of that amazing mind of his. It was a pleasure to him to see Finch so relaxed and happy, and he wanted to bask in that feeling for as long as possible. 

When they had finished eating and reached a pause in the conversation, they tidied up the table. Finch went into a far corner of the library and rummaged in a wooden cabinet. When he came back, he was carrying a bottle of brandy and two tumblers.

“I know you shouldn’t drink brandy from a tumbler,” he said, “but sadly the library is not equipped with a full complement of glassware.” 

He poured and handed John one of the tumblers. Then he raised his glass with a smile:

“Merry Christmas, Mr Reese.”

John returned the salute, and they drank. Finch smiled even more brightly. Was he already getting tipsy?

“So, Mr Reese,” he said, “what do you want for Christmas?”

John shrugged.

“I have everything I need, thanks to you, Finch.”

It was true, he had everything he needed. He had more money than he could spend, a beautiful apartment, nicer suits than he had ever owned in his life. He didn’t need anything else. What he wanted – well, that was another matter. But even in this relaxed atmosphere, he couldn’t possibly tell Finch. So he just asked:

“What do you want for Christmas, Finch?”

Harold shook his head. 

“There are many things that I wish were different. But they don’t really make for Christmas wishes, so I’m afraid I must pass.”

They took another sip of brandy. John could feel the warmth spread through his body – or was that something else? The longer he looked at Harold, the more he wanted to throw caution to the wind and tell him the truth. And why not, he thought. This might be the moment. Harold was so relaxed, so unguarded, smiling more often than John had ever seen – his beautiful smile which warmed John more than the alcohol – and wasn’t there a little flush of red on his cheeks?

Seeing Harold like that, John finally gave in. The man was irresistible, and right now John could resist anything except temptation. (Was that a quote from somewhere? It sounded like one. Harold would be able to tell him.) His head spun, and his insides turned to jelly at the thought of what he was about to do, but there was no turning back now. He put his tumbler down, stepped closer to Harold and lightly took him by the elbows. 

“This is what I want for Christmas,” he said in his most seductive whisper. “You, Harold.”

And before Harold could say anything he bent down and kissed him. 

It was a very gentle kiss, just a light touching of lips, but he made it last, ten, twenty seconds. It felt so good, so right, he never wanted to stop. And Harold didn’t pull away either. He didn’t really return the kiss, but he stood there and let himself be kissed for as long as it lasted.

When they finally separated, John’s elation was joined by fear. What would Harold do now? Would he get angry? Throw John out of the library? Fire John and banish him from his life?  
But Harold looked more stunned than angry. In fact, he just stood there, staring at John, with huge eyes and flushed cheeks. He didn’t do anything for such a long time that John was about to give the experiment up as a failure and retreat.

But suddenly Harold moved. He lifted his hands and put them lightly on John’s chest. John held his breath. Was Harold going to push him away after all? 

“I think I know what I want for Christmas,” Harold whispered so quietly that John could barely hear him. He could feel Harold gripping his shirt and pulling him closer. Hope soaring in his heart, he asked:

“What is that?”

“Can you do that again?”


End file.
